


Sahlo Folina

by NexnGrxvstxns



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Trench - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-05-29 17:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NexnGrxvstxns/pseuds/NexnGrxvstxns
Summary: "Everyone, whether the daughter of a king or not, has one foot in the shadow and the other in the light.And so we all die alike. No matter into which house we are born. No matter which gown. Whether we grace the earth briefly or for a long time. I alone tie my bonds. Whether I have extended hands or slapped them. We all face the same end. Those above have long forgotten us. They do not judge us. In death, I am all alone. And my only judge... is me.Our thinking is shaped by dualism. Entrance, exit. Black, white. Good, evil. Everything appears as opposite pairs. But that’s wrong."- Dark, Netflix, 2017The Garden of Eden. The City of Dema. The Nine Angels of Humankind. The Nine Bishops of Dema. The world of Trench and the rebellious Banditos. The Angel Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley.Everything is connected with a very fragile thread, ready to tear at any moment. The only decider on when, or if, to cut, is a woman who goes by the name of M.Heaven, Hell, Earth, and the world of Trench collide after Armageddon's prevention, leading to an even more ineffable series of events and a newfound desire for one final war to decide the winner: Heaven or Hell.But is it ever so simple?





	1. Epigraph

_Are you still my answer  
To the question I've asked since I was born?_

**\- Windswept by Crywolf**


	2. Prologue: All the Words I Should have Said, but Never Did (Pt. 1)

_There's still blood in your cheeks,_  
 _But your eyes look like miles away_  
 **HISTORY** **\- X Ambassadors**

~

_Dema, Ukraine_   
  


Two men stood on top of a wall that surrounded a city in Ukraine. Unknown to them, millions of years before two different men stood in the same spot they now stood, discussing something completely different from what the men that stood on the wall today were discussing. But that knowledge would likely have little impact on either man; not much shocked either one these days. Even the city before them, formerly known as Dema and a prison to one of the men who stood on the wall, did little to elicit much of an emotion from either man.

Emotions were a luxury, one that both men, for entirely different reasons, no longer afforded.

Both of the men wished to say more than what was actually being said, but of course that would be too complicated. That would require acknowledging the unacknowledged. It would require accepting the truth, and neither of them were ready to accept that. One of the two, the one who had called this city both a home of sorts and a prison, wasn't sure if he was truly ready to return to mundane normalcy. The other, a man in appearance even if not entirely by nature, wasn't ready to accept many things - least of all the answer he was being asked to give in their discussion.

"So, what's next for you?" The man beside him asked again. He must have thought he hadn't heard him, but he had.

"I don't know," the man who wasn't quite a man answered. "Maybe I'll go to Althencentori. Or see the stars. That was always Crowley's thing, seeing the stars."

Tyler nodded, glancing towards him. He supposed there weren't many places for the angel _to_ go, now. 

"I'll figure something out," Aziraphale nodded, attempting to sound confident but he knew it didn't serve to fool Tyler, let alone himself. After all, a statement like that was usually reserved to fool himself more than the company Aziraphale kept.

"And your bookshop?" Tyler questioned.

"Oh, I suppose I can find someone who will take care of that," Aziraphale's voice was growing quieter now. Tyler had still yet to look towards the angel, but now turned his gaze fully from the city before him and focused it on the angel.

"I should thank you," Tyler began. "Without you, well..."

He trailed off, letting the silence stretch between them. "I think it's best if we don't say anything about it at all. Seems to always work with Crowley and I."

Tyler nodded. "Is there anything I _could_ do for you, then?"

Aziraphale ran his hands idly along the stone ledge before him. It was cold, unnaturally so for the middle of the day. "Crowley will be here shortly to give you a ride to the nearest airport. Josh wanted to leave with you but I told him that he should take care of the Banditos. Get them out of Trench. He should be meeting you back in Columbus, though. Crowley will likely head back to London after dropping you off."

Tyler nodded again. "Right." He decided to not push the question further. He knew Aziraphale was a stubborn one, and wasn't likely to offer him any ground in this fight. And, truth be told, Tyler was looking forward to meeting the mysterious demon Crowley and intrigued by his infamous car that seemed to only play Queen's tunes.

"Actually," Aziraphale interrupted Tyler's musings. "I have left something in my book shop for Crowley. If you could make him aware of this I would be ever so grateful."

"What did you leave him?" Tyler asked as he turned toward the other side of the wall, leaning on a ledge and watching as a black 1926 Bentley came racing towards them. Tyler was sure that whatever the speed limit actually _was_ in the middle of nowhere, Ukraine, the driver of this Bentley was certainly not going it. As the car grew closer, Tyler could just start to make out the sounds of Queen's _It's a Beautiful Day_ drifting towards them.

"A note... I know," Aziraphale quickly interjected before Tyler could say anything. "It's not much, but hopefully it's enough. I would tell him the truth in person, but... well, we don't have an Antichrist to help us this time, and he can get dreadfully..."

"Passionate?" Tyler offered.

"Yes, I suppose so." Aziraphale nodded, rubbing his hands together. "But enough of that. He'll find out, I'm sure. I would just like to know for sure that he..."

"Don't worry, Aziraphale. It's the least I can do," Tyler assured. The angel smiled ever so slightly, mouthing a silent "thank you" before turning away.

"Oh, and Tyler?"

"Hm?"

"Do take care of yourself," Aziraphale called over his shoulder. "Heaven and Hell didn't fight a war for you to end up back in Dema. I just... I hope you find what you are looking for. What this place between places leads to - where this Trench goes, I mean."

Tyler didn't respond. He didn't get a chance to. He knew, deep down, that any words he would have said would have fallen on his own ears and his only, for Aziraphale was already gone. Just like that, in a blink of the eye, an angel had left the earth to roam the stars, and a fallen angel had rather suddenly parked his car on the ground below.

A ginger-haired figure stepped out of the car, and even though he was wearing sunglasses, Tyler knew he was squinting up at him. Queen's _I Want to Break Free_ was now blaring from the car's speakers. Tyler began to chuckle as he headed down the stairs of the wall surrounding the city that was no longer his prison.

It was sure to be an interesting drive to London.


	3. Volume One: We Are Banditos

_I am flesh and I am bone /_  
_I've got fire in my soul_   
**Glitter & Gold - Barns Courtney**

~

_Dema, Ukraine  
_ _Many, many years ago._

Two men stood on the top of a wall that surrounded a city. Unknown to either men, two different men would stand on this exact wall many millennia from now and discuss the fate of the world and other related matters, but for now the two men seemed just content enough to observe the city before them. This city was unlike any other in the world - possibly because it wasn't actually _in_ the world at all. The two men surveyed the city before them. It was night, which made it difficult to see much of anything at all, or at least it would have had the city not been surrounded by neon lights that cast an eerie pseudo-daylight on the place. It wasn't quite that the city that was surrounded by a wall was a ball of light, more-so it was a city surrounded by a wall of light with pockets of shadows between buildings.

And then there were the towers. Nine of them, to be precise, each raising their own walls into the sky and ending at differing points.

But it wasn't the first time the men had stood on this wall, observing this very city. They had done it night after night, and would likely continue to do so for many nights to come. Neither man ever said much to the other; they were enemies, after all. But one must ask, why would enemies be so willing to stand so close on a wall to observe a city when they could be standing on opposite sides of the circle? Maybe the saying one of the old men had whispered in the city when he thought no prying eyes were watching was correct - 'keep your friends close,' he had said, 'but your enemies closer.'

Maybe that was what the two men were doing: Keeping each other close. But truth be told, that wasn't what either men planned on doing. No, they were here, as they always were, to discuss what was to come - even if such a discussion was born out of entirely different motivations. After all, one of the men lived in the city before them, and the other man snuck people out. Rather, he snuck one man out. Repeatedly. It seemed the man he tried to save had a bad habit of being pulled back into this city. If either the rescuer or the rescued were being honest, though, they weren't trying particularly hard. Not yet, anyway.

One of the men straightened up from his perch leaning on the ledge of the wall overlooking the city. He turned to his fellow partner and finally broke the silence that had stretched out between the two for what felt like hours.

"Kies, why did you call me here?" The other man had not straightened from his perch eyeing the city before him, and seemingly did not hear the man's question.

The man waited patiently. He had learned a thing or two after spending almost a year watching these men. He knew Kies better than most, and even if he was the only one of the nine soon-to-be Bishops he would dare approach alone, it did not mean that Kies lacked many of the habits the other Eight possessed. One such habit was using verbal language sparingly. He'd mentioned one time something about silence bringing violence and the order of Bishops he was helping Niocel create worshiped silence.

It didn't make too much sense to Joshua, but he knew by now it was no use arguing with Kies. If the man set his mind to something, he wasn't likely to change it.

"Niocel is set to begin the initiation of Vialism. It is only a matter of days before conversions begin," Kies finally answered.

Joshua didn't answer. He could tell by Kies' voice what the to-be Bishop thought of Niocel's plan. He had been growing more and more distant to Joshua's ideas as of late, and he knew that it was only a matter of time until the truth came out; until Kies finally admitted what - maybe - he had wanted to admit all along: That Joshua's attempts at making him see sense were useless because he never truly had any desire _to_ see sense. He didn't care about what Joshua had to say, he only cared what Niocel commanded him to care about.

He was a good little Bishop following his leader's orders.

Joshua sighed. "I cannot allow that to happen to Tyler."

"I know," Kies said simply. He was still staring intently at Dema, as though somehow staring at the city would give him telepathic capabilities to plan Joshua's capture with Niocel. It had crossed Joshua's mind from time to time whenever the two of them had meetings. After all, he could never be certain if Kies was truly planning on betraying him, or if he always had been reporting back to Niocel whenever they had their secret meetings. But Joshua didn't like to think like that. It was rather more heartening to believe that the Bishop, deep down, considered Joshua at least somewhat a friend. At one time, Joshua had considered Kies a friend.

Maybe that time had long since vanished, though. "I won't stop you."

Kies' remark broke Joshua from his ruminations. "What?"

The surprised tone Joshua offered must have amused Kies, because he chucked ever so slightly. Joshua couldn't recall a time that he had _ever_ heard the Bishop laugh, but there it was, as clear as day. He had been beginning to wonder if the Bishops were even capable of that sort of human emotion.

"I won't stop you from saving your friend, even if I don't see anything but the futility in it," Kies elaborated. "He may have his freedom, but Niocel is no the type to let things go - I fear that the freedom you will give your friend will only be temporary."

"Even if it is, it's better than never having tried in the first place." It was Joshua's turn to return his gaze to the city before them. It was a cold place, a place of hopelessness and lack of imagination. It was palatable, almost, as though he could almost feel it in the air.

It was no place for his friend.

"As I said," Kies repeated. " _I_ will not interfere. I cannot say the same for the other Eight... If it comes to it, and I must... Obey orders... I will do as I am told. I will bide my time as it may, however."

He paused, finally glancing at Joshua. "You will only have one chance to save your friend. Make it count."

"I will," Joshua said quietly. It wasn't just escaping Dema this time, though. This time, they were escaping Trench, too - and that may be the more difficult task.

Especially with Eight angry Bishops and one reluctant one on their tails.

Kies straightened up, slowly smoothing out his robes as he prepared to depart from the wall. They had slowly become soiled over time - it was beginning to get hard to tell that they had once been a pristine white. They were somewhere in between a shade of rosy red and muddy brown, now, and Joshua wondered how what color the robes would eventually end up being. It was a slow process, falling from grace.

"The next time we see each other, Joshua, I cannot say that it will be for a friendly conversation." There was a moment of silence, long enough for a pin to drop. That is, if either of them had actually been holding a pin, or would have dropped it in the first place. Still, neither spoke, until an uncomfortable silence had settled between them. The lack of response spoke volumes in of itself.

Joshua knew this day had been coming. Once upon a time, perhaps, Kies and he had been friends; but that was a long time ago before he had made a new friend, and before Kies had fallen and chosen to follow Niocel. Now, he supposed, they were slowly becoming enemies as Kies was slowly becoming... something else.

"I hope that we won't have to see each other again, for your sake, old friend."

Before Joshua could react, Kies had already turned and walked away, leaving Joshua to stand alone on the wall that surrounded the city.

***

"So, how'd it go?" Joshua glanced up at the woman he was walking towards. She had situated herself sneakily in a crevice between two rocks, with just enough space for both her and the chestnut-colored horse she was holding by the reigns. She idly stroke its neck, and the animal seemed to be enjoying the motion, but her attention was completely focused on him.

"Better than expected." It was the only response Joshua could give. The truth. What a tricky thing, truth. After all, he had all but expected Kies to ambush him on the wall. He had warned his partner of that much, at least.

His partner. That wasn't the right word. Not exactly. Sure, they were partners of a sort - equals, even. But partner was too a... inadequate word. Fiance was too final, though.

Yes, Deborah was his wife-to-be - Heaven, she was the love of his life, if he could ever have that - but something held him back from saying that silly "f" word. Fear? No, not fear, he faced danger every day and fear didn't stop him then. Maybe it was the very love he felt that held him back.

He had asked for her hand not too long ago, but that didn't change things. And things loved to change.

Take the initiation of Vialism, or the fact that they would soon be leaving Trench behind, or the fact that there was a very high chance that he may not even remember her when this was all said and done.

So maybe it was fear after all. Fear of losing her. But you don't choose who you fall in love with, and he was in love with her, so somehow that made all of the fear worth it.

"We'll come back for him tomorrow," Joshua continued, gently taking Deborah's hand in his and swinging himself up onto the horse with an ease of a man who had to learn how to ride a horse - and learn how fast. He helped Deborah up with just as much ease.

"And then?" She prodded.

"And then we'll leave this place behind," Joshua answered, turning their horse and sending them into a gallop towards the Bandito camp.

_And then damnation would surely come calling_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some notes here:  
> The song chosen was more-so chosen for the tone of the music and less the lyrics this time.
> 
> I also chose to cut out some lines and scenes for Deborah and Joshua because there'll be more about them later... Just know for now that there is a specific reason that I am not calling them Debby and Josh!
> 
> Finally I'm hoping to start having a semi-regular updating schedule for this fanfic... But I haven't quite nailed down certain dates I want to get new chapters out, so that'll have to be determined. I'm trying to get a job right now and unpack from college so I can only write at nights, which make it a bit difficult, but I actually have time to write now at least.


	4. London Awaits

_No sign of life once written off_  
_The road ahead is paved in gold_  
_The history, the rise and fall_  
_It's on my skin_  
_The ones before me painted red_  
_They're screaming out "off with his head!"_  
_And silence every word they said_  
_'Cause fear don't win_  
_Eyes are clear, our hearts full_  
_Breaking through impossible._   
**Light it Up - Upstate**

~

_Columbus, Ohio  
Present day._

Work.

It was... tedious, to say the least. But tedious was worth it, if you enjoyed it. That's what Mariel "Maria" Jane Smith's mother had always said. Her mother was never wrong.

Today had been the most tedious of all the day's she had spent working for the Columbus Police Department, though. Today was the one year anniversary of the disappearance of Tyler Joseph, and the police force had yet to find a solid lead as to where he had been taken.

There had been several leads since she was assigned as the detective on Joseph's case, but nothing had panned out. Nothing ever did, it seemed. Each time they thought they had gotten close to a clue or a breakthrough, something inevitably happened to turn them in the exact opposite direction. It was almost like Tyler Joseph didn't want to be found.

But Maria didn't believe in such things.

It had been a slow day today, filled with meetings of various importance going over details of the case that she could likely recite blindfolded while being held upside down. She had been working on the case for the last year, and she knew everything there was to know about the facts - that wasn't the issue. It was all the new recruits she was putting on the case, hoping that the more manpower and pairs of eyes on the case there were, the higher the chances something would be seen and they could get to finding Tyler.

Maria sat at her desk, not really paying attention to the computer screen sitting before her. She was staring off into space, once more considering the first day of the case. There hadn't been a forced entry into the Joseph's household, and Tyler's wife, Jenna, had been out buying groceries. No witnesses, no noise complaints, and nothing to suggest that this had all been a robbery gone wrong. Furthermore, with the absence of a ransom demand, it was hard to nail down even a motivation for the kidnapping. Whatever it was, it had to have been personal.

That was the theory Maria had begun to work with. It was the only theory she really had, anyway. Everything she had been told about the relationship the Joseph's had, and the missing man's relationship with his best friend Josh Dun, suggested that he was happy. This, she reasoned, ruled out any discussion of Tyler having had enough and running out on his wife. Something told Maria that he wasn't that kind of man.

"Smith!" The word cut across her musings, startling her as she jolted up straight in her chair. Sargent Jenkins chuckled from behind her computer.

Maria glared. "What is it, Jenkins?"

"Cap wants you. I know how you are with your... voodoo mind business, but he said he needed to speak with you immediately."

She glanced towards Captain Jacob Remiel's office. She wouldn't say that they were friends, but their captain was a good man, that much she knew. She trusted him and he seemed to like her enough to give her a relatively long leash, so she didn't argue. He was a peculiar fellow, or that's what everyone said. She hadn't ever noticed anything specifically strange about him, but then again, she had made a point of avoiding him. She didn't dislike him; he was nice enough, it was just that the terms of her... employment made any interaction with the Captain feel awkward, even if they weren't.

"Alright. And it's my mind palace, not voodoo." Jenkins rolled his eyes, muttering a low " _whatever, Sherlock,"_ as he stalked off to his own desk.

Bracing herself, Maria dragged herself towards the Captain's office. Sure, Jenkins was right. Her mind palace was something she had found after binging BBC's Sherlock over two days, but it had proven effective in her (albeit short) crime-solving career. Jenkins could mock her all he wanted, but she had been getting results, even if overall their trail was cold.

She knocked on the Captain's door, waiting for him to motion her in. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," he motioned to a seat on the other side of her desk, and Maria took it. "I would like you to give me a rundown of the case so far."

Maria shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Nothing new has come up since the rundown two days ago, sir."

"I would still like a briefing, detective."

Maria nodded. "Well, we know the vic- Mr. Joseph, was taken from his house sometime around 3 AM the morning of October fourth, right before he and his friend were scheduled to embark on a huge tour to support their new album."

"And?"

"And we ruled out the wife and friend as suspects, as well as the friend's girlfriend - sorry," Maria quickly corrected. "Josh's fiance. They are engaged.

"There was no forced entry, though, so it was someone Mr. Joseph knew, or at least he was expecting. The wife was out on a late night grocery run - I guess they're fond of cooking at strange hours - so no witnesses. They don't have a security system, so no cameras to catch the person who kidnapped Mr. Joseph, and CSI canvased the place. We haven't found anything useful to go on."

"Any suspects that we haven't looked at yet?" The captain asked, templing his fingers and staring over the top.

"No, sir. We've spent the last year doing just that... Eliminating suspects. We've finally gotten through everyone with nothing promising. Nobody has any obvious motive to kidnap Mr. Joseph, or they all have alibis that are solid; no one obviously near him did this, of that I'm certain."

"I may be able to help you there, detective." Maria blinked. They hadn't had a solid lead in quite some time, and the possibility of having one was... strange. She had been (although she hated to admit it) becoming aware that they may have to move this case to the cold files section and move onto more pressing matters. How would she have explained that to Jenna, or Josh, or any of the other numerous family members she would have had to contact, she did not know.

"You'll need this," Captain Jacob Remiel continued. He handed her a plane ticket and an envelope stuffed with cash, already exchanged for UK pounds. She glanced curiously at the ticket she now held, and saw that it said her destination was London.

"Sir?" She questioned.

"We got an anonymous tip, something about seeing Mr. Joseph in London. The connection was poor and we weren't able to get a lock on the caller, they likely called from a payphone or burner, anyway. But, they did say that they knew about our investigation - which isn't a surprise with the anniversary garnering as much news coverage as it has - and they wanted to help. They said that they thought that they saw Joseph in London earlier today."

"We don't even know if this is credible," Maria began, but quickly stopped herself. It was like she herself had said: They had no leads. This was the best they had to go off of, and a shoddy-at-best lead was better than none at all.

"The plane leaves in a couple of hours. If I were you, I'd get going to the airport." He paused, grabbing a pen and a notepad from his desk and scribbling something on it. Neatly folding the page after tearing it off the pad, he handed her the paper and motioned vaguely at her. "Go this address once you arrive. You won't have time to grab a go-bag, so this will have to do. Ask for a man named Aziraphale when you get to that address. He owes me a favor or two."

She glanced down at the paper then back up at the Captain. "The department can't pay for my airfare as well as a hotel room, and God knows I can't afford either-"

He cut her off. "Consider it covered. I do believe I owe you, after all." She didn't answer.

"Now," he said, returning his gaze to the computer in front of him and the stack of paperwork that was waiting to be processed "get going. I can cover your travel fair, but not if you miss that plane. London awaits, detective Smith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter chapter this time, I'm afraid. I decided to cut some scenes up and add some more chapters. I'm also getting back into writing after having not solidly written anything fanfic or original novel-related in quite some time, and these are all likely going to be rough edit posts, so I appreciate forgiveness for any typos or grammar errors. I'll need a little grace when it comes to updates as I only really get a chance to work on this fic at night on a laptop, but I'll aim for an update every 3 or so days. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I look forward to any comments or questions.
> 
> Fun facts ~
> 
> Light it Up was chosen as the song for this chapter after I found it from a Toyota tired advertisement, of all things. Once again less for the lyrics and more for the sound, even though the lyrics posted above do kind of fit the investigation into Tyler's disappearance and the determination of Maria to find him even if it does seem hopeless. I also just liked it because it's upbeat and seems like a good travel song and something Maria would like to listen to as she boards a plane to London.
> 
> I chose Jenkins as the name of the sergeant mostly because it seems like every cop show or book has a sergeant named Jenkins in it, so mostly it's me poking fun at the popularity of that name for crime fiction.
> 
> Remiel is rich enough to drop hard cash on a plane ticket and exchange money for Smith, but he's only a police captain. While feasibly he could be making anywhere from $40 - 92k, it still makes one wonder how he can afford to just drop money so casually, and what he owes Maria... More on that soon enough, I suppose!
> 
> Also, as a final side note, this if my first fanfic on AO3, so I'm still getting used to the format on here. I usually post my work on Wattpad, and will have the most up-to-date version of this fic available on there. I will slowly be adding more chapters to here, though, as I write. Any feedback or suggestions are highly appreciated!


	5. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//  
> Most of this fic is rated PG-13. Some chapters will contain more sensitive topics, including this one. This chapter deals with a discussion about scars and has descriptions of scarring and blood.

_In the aftermath_  
_There will be no blood_  
_This is a quiet death_  
_My dear_  
_I feel you as you dissipate_  
_You're burning up, you're burning up_   
**In Flames - Samuel Proffitt Ft. Crywolf**

~

_Somewhere in SoHo, London  
Six Years Ago._

It was raining. Not the type of rain that downpours and drenches clothes, but the type of rain that trickles down one's face and lightly dances on one's shoulders, creating a fine mist to waltz through. The clouds above the busy London streets, however, suggested that a more looming and drenching downpour was in store.

It would hold off, for now, though. Maybe that was because the clouds had not tipped their holding capacity yet to unleash their torrential rains down on the earth below, or perhaps it was because of the two other-worldly beings that were walking along these very London streets. Neither man held any sort of an umbrella, nor were either of them dressed well for a rainstorm. Yet they continued to stroll, unbothered by the growing darkness in the clouds above them.

They were too deep in bickering to be too bothered by much right now. To outsider's ears, the conversation likely sounded like pure insanity. Pure insanity and would likely have made the eavesdropper rather concerned for a young boy, named Warlock's, life. They were arguing about the end of the world, and whether or not "eliminating" the boy would stop it.

"I'm the _nice_ one, Crowley, _once again,_ I can't kill the kid!"

"Even to stop _it_ , and save _everyone,"_ the other man, Crowley, stressed.

His partner glanced around nervously, snapping a quick "No!" before practically racing across one of the streets. Crowley followed quickly after, sighing.

"Fine. We wait until his eleventh birthday, then." Crowley mumbled.

A demon by trade, Crowley's dark apparel fit just as nicely with his 1926 Bentley, which he was beginning to miss as the rain began to grow slightly stronger. His partner, on the other hand, was an angel, and was rather more fond of beige and white color pallets. He seemed not to be bothered by the rain drops growing, and instead held out his hand to catch a few on his palm.

He was practically radiating, and Crowley was finding it hard to decide if he should be annoyed by the angel or amused. As a serpent, and a demon, Crowley should by all rights enjoy the rain - but he most assuredly did not. That was Aziraphale's guilty pleasure. He couldn't understand the angel's adoration with the rain, but the angel would always tell the demon that the rain "calmed him," and that would be that.

"Oh, don't be grumpy, Crowley, it does ruin a nice bottle of wine when you are grumpy." The angel admonished him, letting his hand fall back to his side as they quickly crossed another street.

That was true. Demonic traits were tied, to some extent, with personality. An otherwise enjoyable bottle of wine could be easily ruined by a sour mood. An otherwise ordinary houseplant could easily be the most luscious in London with a stern talk. A car that had no slot for cassette tapes (nor the technology for such a slot) could just as easily have one if a demon wanted. More-so, if such tapes were left in said car for more than a fortnight, they could easily become _Best of Queen_ tapes.

So, Crowley let their previous bicker slide, for now, at least. He wanted to get drunk, and that wasn't about to happen if he was shooting Aziraphale daggers every ten seconds. Saving the world could wait for another day - after all, they still had five more years to influence the Antichrist to be a Perfectly Normal Child.

Or at least, he would have been able to put aside their bickering had a human female not ran straight into him, knocking him backwards into a puddle along the road. Beside him, Aziraphale barely stifled a chuckle upon seeing him annoyed by the sudden accident. Crowley resembled something of a drowned cat, he was sure, and it only served to anger the demon more. The angel seemed to realize that it wasn't very angelic of him to be laughing, because he quickly sobered himself up and held out a hand to help Crowley up. The demon, peeved by the angel's incessant _goodness_ , refused the offer and picked himself up.

"Are, are you quite alright, dear?" The angel asked the woman who was lying beside where Crowley had fallen. She, unlike the demon, did not seem to even register the fact that she had fallen in the puddle. Instead, she seemed to be staring dazedly up at nothing in particular. Her hair, now soaked, covered her face, and the angel softly brushed it behind her ear as he squatted down to get a better look.

"Just making sure she didn't hit her head," he explained to Crowley. He could hear him huff behind him, but he paid it no attention.

There was a little blood, but nothing too bad. Aziraphale smoothly waved a hand over her forehead and the wound healed itself in no time. Some blood caked her face, and one of her eyes didn't open because of a wad of blood that rested on her lids, but she would be okay.

Aziraphale reached into one of his pockets, miracling a handkerchief out of the ether and began to wipe her face when he heard the hiss.

Crowley had walked around behind the girl, and the sudden noise he made caused the angel to jump ever so slightly. "Crowley what is the matter?"

He stopped what he was doing to give the demon his full attention. When he saw the demon's face, though, he carefully stood and walked over to where he was standing, still not quite understanding what had surprised the demon so much.

Then he saw it.

Blood. Quite a bit of it. Well, not just a _bit_. A lot.

It was caked on her back, some of it was fresh, probably opened from when she ran into Crowley, or when she had fallen into the puddle, but there was more of it; caked and dried in what Aziraphale could only assume was several layers. He glanced nervously at Crowley.

"Humans..." The demon whispered. "They do this to themselves. Why do you even need demons when humans are even better at torturing themselves all on their own?"

Aziraphale didn't answer. He didn't _have_ an answer. What could he have said to that? It was true, he'd seen it many times; each time, it made his heart break a little more.

He glanced nervously around, suddenly dawning on him that they were drawing quite a bit of attention while not actually helping the injured girl. "Come on, we need to get her inside!"

"Oh no, I think we should just leave her. Someone will find her and she'll be seen to," Crowley snapped.

"Crowley!" The angel admonished again. "We cannot just leave her here. She's been hurt badly and needs our help."

The demon glared behind his sunglasses. _Bless that angel_ he thought. Aziraphale was looking up at him with such a pitying pleading gaze that he knew he couldn't say no. Aziraphale wasn't the one who was supposed to be doing the tempting. That was _his_ job, and yet here he was melting at angelic puppy-dog eyes.

_Oh, Bless._

Aziraphale carefully helped the woman up, trying his best to avoid the injured portion of her back while also carrying a majority of her weight. The two of them struggled down the street, with Crowley following beside them and giving off a particularly demonic aura so that any spying eyes would automatically avert their gaze. Of course, they wouldn't understand _why_ exactly they averted their gaze or moved out of the trio's way, but they would confusedly hurry on their way nevertheless.

"We won't make it to the bookshop," Aziraphale panted. Crowley glanced at the two of them, having now moved to stalk in front of them to ensure a clear path. He was right. The angel was beginning to struggle under the weight of the girl and moving her had opened some of her older wounds, causing half of the angel's coat to be decorated with a shade of crimson.

Crowley looked around, spotting a SoHo house that didn't look like it had been lived in for a quite some time. "Over here," he called, sauntering over to the abandoned house.

Aziraphale followed after, kicking down the door and struggling under the girl's weight until they finally found a couch to set her down on. Crowley's eyebrows shot up, surprised at the angel's actions. But he followed the angel into the house, wandering around the old home as the angel worked on the girl. They were going to need alcohol, and lots of it.

**~~~**

"So," the demon said casually. "Who is she?"

Aziraphale looked up sharply from his glass of whiskey. It was old, the bottle having been shoved somewhere in a dusty kitchen cabinet, but Crowley had found it and it was still good. "No-no one," the angel stammered unconvincingly.

"Rightttttt," Crowley smirked. He wasn't going to let Aziraphale go that easily. "So you risked the wrath of Heaven just for a random human?"

He regret the words as soon as he had said them. The sudden change from a sheepish lying expression to sheer realization and panic would likely had been hilarious, if it hadn't been on the angel's face, and if they hadn't had a girl laying on the couch in the other room who had almost died in his friend's arms. That kind of thing tended to sober even Crowley up.

"Oh, no, oh no!" The angel fretted. "Heaven is going to be mad. I broke into someone's home, Crowley!"

The demon had already fixed the door after having made his rounds of the house. "You broke in to save a woman's life, isn't that enough to put things back into balance?"

Aziraphale hadn't thought of that. He nodded, slowly quieting down when he realized that perhaps Crowley was right. He had broken into the house to save the girl's life, after all, and wouldn't that count for _something_?

"What about you?" The angel asked nervously.

"Oh," Crowley said casually, downing his whiskey in a single gulp. "I'll be fine. Broke into the house to thwart an angel and draw some Satanic symbols on the floor and mirror of the bathroom upstairs. Maybe broke out a light or two. Humans will come flocking to this house looking for occult mysteries in no time. The folks Down There will love it." He began to laugh at that, but Aziraphale didn't look particularly amused.

"Crowley," the angel sighed. He stopped himself, though. There surely was no reasoning with a demon, after all.

"So," Crowley repeated. "Who is she?"

The angel gulped his own drink down, seeming to steady himself for whatever he was about to tell the demon next.

"She is..." Instead of finishing the thought, Aziraphale stood and headed to the other room where the girl lay. She was on her stomach, her back freshly cleaned of all blood and her body covered mostly with a blanket that the angel must have miracled from the ether, because Crowley had not seen something so soft as what was covering the girl now in the house. The angel softly pushed the blanket slightly down, revealing her naked back but being careful to not expose too much.

Modesty. That was an angelic trait, after all.

Crowley stared, slowly taking his sunglasses off to ensure he wasn't seeing things - perhaps a trick of the light. It wasn't. The girl's back, the scars that had been hidden by all the blood... They looked like...

"Are those..." Crowley trailed off.

"Yes," Aziraphale said quietly. "They were."

"Who would do that?" The demon glanced at Aziraphale.

"I don't know," he answered. 


	6. North (Part One)

_Some let go and some hold on_   
_There is no mistake_   
_If I could wash all ill away_   
_Tell me would you stay?_   
**Citizens of Glass - Agnes Obel**

~

June 1st, 1855  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Aziraphale hadn't planned on being in America during this century, but Heaven had been quite happy with his good deeds as of late, and had asked him personally to see to working some miracles in America. The hope, he imagined, was to lessen the evil influences Hell had been providing through torturous slave owners and blatant racism dividing a fragile new union of states.

However, as Gabriel made ultimately clear, and much to Aziraphale's dismay, his job was to teach slave children how to worship like good little Christians - not to help ease potential discomforts and torment they were subjected to under their master's.

They weren't allowed to read, but they were allowed to go to a "church" service of sorts that Aziraphale would hold out of a travelling tent for the children, going from farm to farm and plantation to plantation and doing his best to inspire and help in any little way he could while still doing his Heaven-given job.

He'd been working in the South for the last year and a half, and was desperately missing his bookshop in London. He hoped that no one had vandalized the place while he was away: Or worse, stolen any of his beloved books.

But he couldn't worry about that now, he still had another half year at least of working with his current church, and he hadn't seen Crowley the last quarter of a century, so he had no way of contacting the demon to check in on the bookshop. Not that that would be a guarantee of its safety, anyway. Demons were notorious liars, and despite the fact that their particular Arrangement had been going strong for the last two centuries, Aziraphale wasn't sure he was ready to trust everything Crowley said at face value.

In any case, the angel had the next few days off and had made his way north to Pennsylvania, where rules were ever so slightly more lax and people were more... accommodating.

What he hadn't planned on doing was standing in the pouring rain in the middle of the night, waiting for a stranger to make an appearance. He had received an anonymous note at his hotel room asking him to meet near the entrance to an old mining quarry right outside of Philadelphia, and having nothing particularly better to do, he had made his way out by wagon to the note's specified location.

He was beginning to wonder if anyone was going to show up at all when a cough from behind startled him. Spinning around, his eyes widened slightly as he stared at the young girl before him. She was perhaps sixteen, at most, wearing ragged clothes and mud smeared her face. Her hair, once perhaps a brilliant blonde, now looked a dirty shade of bronze. She walked with uncertainty, eyeing him as she drew closer.

"Are you the driver?" Aziraphale blinked. He'd been assumed to be a lot of things over the millennia, but "driver" wasn't one of them.

"E-excuse me?"

The girl seemed to change her mind, slowly backing away. "Never mind."

Aziraphale hurried after. "No, no, wait! You startled me, is all. I did drive a wagon here, yes."

The angel wasn't sure why he said it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. The girl was eyeing him more closely now, seeming to take every detail in. He tried to make himself look as non-threatening as possible, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"What's your name?" The girl asked. She still hadn't walked back towards him, glancing every now and then behind her as if to check on something.

"Aziraphale."

She seemed to think. Aziraphale, attempting to be helpful, turned his body and pointed at the wagon he had driven. "See, I rode in that wagon there."

Aziraphale watched as she leaned a little to her left, nodding once she saw the wagon. "Okay."

He watched as she turned around and hurried back the way Aziraphale assumed she had come from, vanishing as rain began to splatter on the dirt around him. The sound punctuated the silence that stretched out as Aziraphale waited. He was sorely wishing he had brought an umbrella now, but it was no matter. He would just have to miracle his clothes dry once they got back inside.

The angel was just beginning to wonder what was taking the girl so long when he saw her reappear through the rain. And then another form. And another. And another.

Kids. Sixteen of them, huddled together closely and looking quite soggy already from the downpour that had opened up. Aziraphale's eyes widened as the realization of what he had agreed to dawned on him. He turned to face the girl, but she was already walking past him and helping the first child onto the wagon. A tiny boy, perhaps seven at most, looking half-starved and beaten to death.

They were all slave children.

Part of Aziraphale wanted to stop the girl and inform her that he could not help her, that Heaven would surely be annoyed if they found out that he had helped these children escape their master's and leave their families behind. But another part was winning in his mental tug-of-war, a part that said that maybe this was not the Heavenly thing to do, but the _right_ thing to do. The _good_ thing.

He glanced at a group of children who had hung back, staring at him with curious eyes. They were all young, the oldest probably around twelve. "Come on, I'll take you somewhere safe."

The angel tried to give off his most reassuring aura possible, smiling warmly at the children and extending his hands for them to hold. They followed, grabbing his hands but still huddling close together. He helped them all onto the wagon, then went around to the front. The girl held back, covering the children and making sure they would not make a sound as they rode into town. Once finished, she headed calmly to the front of the wagon, swinging herself up beside Aziraphale.

He glanced at her, surprised, but decided it better to not object. "Where are we going?" The angel asked.

"North," she replied, staring in front of them. "To Philadelphia's freedom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a shorter chapter as it has been taking a long time to write (for research purposes to make this more accurate and other, life-related reasons) so I decided to split it into two parts.


	7. Free (Part Two)

_Like brothers, we know how to fight_   
_It's on our shoulders to set the world right_   
_What's the difference if we disagree?_   
_Is heaven above? Is hell underneath?_   
_Doesn't change the news on the streets_   
_Doesn't bring us closer to peace_   
**Free to Breathe - Cold War Kids**

**~**

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania  
June 1st, 1855

The ride into Philadelphia went smoothly. No one stopped them, no one asked any questions, and perhaps because it was in the middle of the night, they only encountered one other person strolling through the city before the girl besides Aziraphale nodded to a house on the side of the road.

"That's it."

Aziraphale quietly turned the horses towards the house she had pointed out, slowing them to a stop as the girl jumped down and headed around the wagon. Aziraphale followed, watching as she began to shuttle kids into the two story city house standing before them. Aziraphale hurried ahead, holding the door open as a stream of kids rushed inside.

The girl entered in last, glancing up at him as if to say "thank you" as she passed.

They moved quietly throughout the house. There was no one home, Aziraphale could already sense that much, but the girl seemed uneasy nonetheless. They settled in the kitchen, with the girl cooking food that had been stashed away in the fridge and cupboards. The angel had questioned her about it, but she the only thing she had told him was that a person loyal to their cause had left it there for them.

He had considered leaving, having done his duty and getting the children and the girl this far, but he was still curious about the note. He couldn't be sure it was her who had left it, of course, but he had to make sure. He had to know why the girl met him there and why she needed his help. Was he just a driver in an illicit operation to free slaves, or was there something more?

She had insisted that he stay for a late supper, as a thank you for helping them get into town. Somewhat against his better judgement, the angel agreed. That had always been his weakness, tasting and devouring delicious food and drink.

While she cooked, he entertained the children, dusting off some old magic tricks he had once learned from an old slave man when he had been in Mississippi. He had been meaning to show Crowley for some time now.

The girl was just handing Aziraphale a plate of food after passing around servings for the rest of the kids when there was a knock on the door. Aziraphale had heard stories of escaping slaves. He knew enough of what he had gotten involved with by helping this girl to know what the knock could mean.

It was one thing if they found him. He could miracle his way out of this if it came to a pinch, though Gabriel would surely have something to say about it and he would get another rude note from Uriel. It was quite another thing if they found the girl with all of the children.

This was bad.

"Take care of the food," the girl hissed. She gripped a few of the children's hands, hurrying the group of them out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Aziraphale whispered back.

"There's an attic. We'll hide up there." She stopped, turning back towards him with a pleading look in her eyes. "You can persuade them to leave, yes?"

The angel glanced down, not wanting to promise anything but already knowing what answer he would give: "Yes."

He snapped his fingers, miracling the food somewhere else. He couldn't say for sure where it would end up; he had never been very good at specifying destinations for that sort of thing. There were no traces of a late night dinner for escaped slaves in the kitchen, though, and that was all that mattered. He waited until he heard the sound of a door closing from somewhere in the house, then slowly walked to the front door.

His hand hovered over the knob for a few seconds as he took a deep breath. Aziraphale slowly opened the door, and promptly opened the door wider when he saw who it was.

"Crowley?"

"Angel," the demon replied, slipping into the house from the widened opening before he could stop him.

"What in Heaven's name are you doing here?" The angel snapped, closing the door behind him. The demon turned on his heel, looking the angel up and down.

"Nice top hat." Aziraphale blinked, quickly looking away from the demon to hide the smile that threatened to break across his face.

"Crowley," the angel sighed, playing in to the demon's temptations. "Yours is quite nice, as well."

The demon grinned, showing far too many teeth for a gesture between friends. Aziraphale followed Crowley as he stalked into the kitchen, reigniting the candles he had recently blown out with a snap of his fingers.

"I'm here because you blew me off, angel."

"I did _what?"_ the angel said incredulously. The claim was absurd; Aziraphale hadn't seen Crowley since 1793, and they had made no plans to meet recently. In fact, the only invitation to meet anyone had come from...

"The note," Aziraphale realized. Crowley nodded sharply.

"Yeah," Crowley snapped. "I've been waiting for you, thinking it odd because you're rarely late. Angelic timeliness and all, but here you are, holed up in someone's house."

The demon paused, finally glancing around at the room he was standing in. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I-" Aziraphale stopped. What he had been doing in this house wasn't something that could be chalked up to his usual Angelic deeds, and he was not about to admit to Crowley that he was here doing something that would be seen more favorable in Hell than Heaven. Sure, Hell would not like the fact that the slave children were escaping terrible circumstances, but they _would_ find it interesting that an angel was going against Heavenly wishes. And that would certainly not bode well for anyone involved.

"I had a few days off," Aziraphale quickly recovered. "I am staying here for the next few nights."

"Uh-huh," Crowley nodded. The angel could tell he wasn't buying it.

Crowley didn't get a chance to push the subject further, though. A second knock interrupted the conversation, causing Aziraphale to turn sharply to look in the direction of the front door. He turned back toward Crowley, a sudden dread overtaking the normal reserve and righteousness he would exude when the demon was around.

*******

"Change into a houseplant!" Aziraphale blurted out. He looked nervous - no, that wasn't it. He looked... terrified. Crowley couldn't remember a time that Aziraphale had looked terrified. It wasn't like him, at all.

Sighing, he bit his snake-tongue and stopped himself from making a fuss, and instead did as he was asked. The angel would hear from him later, but for now he would be a good serpent and do as the angel wanted.

Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as Crowley's body transformed. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd seen the demon change shapes, and yet each time the bastard still looked as though he was fascinated by his own little private demonic miracle.

Crowley made sure to bristle and vibrate with as much annoyance as a freshly potted fern could muster as Aziraphale picked him up and placed him neatly on the kitchen table. He didn't so much as watch (house plants can't have eyes, after all) as sense Aziraphale leave the room. Straining his demonic senses, Crowley attempted to listen in on the conversation, but could only manage vague mumbling.

*******

"Can we come in?" Aziraphale bit his lip, opening the door wider for five men to enter the house.

"And you are the owner of this home, Mr...?"

"Aziraphale," the angel offered.

"Mr. Fell," the man replied.

"Ah, yes. I live alone, I'm working with the Baptist Church. I'm a Bishop," Aziraphale said quickly. "I have a few days off from my duties down South and decided to return home."

The man nodded, waving for the other four to spread out. "You don't mind if we take a look around, then, do you Mr. Fell? Lot's of escaped slaves around in these parts. Can't have those-"

"No, of course not," Aziraphale quickly cut in. He hated that word, and rather hoped that there would come a time when it wasn't so commonly used.

The two of them continued to talk as the other four looked the house up and down. None of them took any notice to the potted fern on the kitchen table. Nor did any of them seem to notice the door up to the attic. Aziraphale found it odd, but did not say a word as the men seemed to overlook it with each sweep they did.

"Does all seem to be in order - Well, I must say I do not know how to address you, Sir."

The man smiled thinly. "Most people call me Nico, Mr. Fell."

"Ah, right then. Mr. Nico, does everything seem to be in order?"

The man stared at Aziraphale for a few moments, then slowly nodded. "All right men, let's let Mr. Fell have the rest of his night to himself."

The five of them made their way to the front of the house, with Aziraphale following behind. "Right, Mr. Fell, if you see any of those escaped slaves you let us know, that's a good man, Mr. Fell. Thank you kindly, and good evening."

He watched them leave, Nico patting his back solidly as he stepped out into the dark, rainy night.

Aziraphale did a cursory glance around, even though he had known he'd shown the last man out of the house by now. But, you could never be too sure, he reasoned.

"Alright," he sighed with relief. "You can change back now."

This time, he wasn't watching as Crowley returned to his human form, brushing off a few spare dirt clods from his clothes and glaring daggers into Aziraphale's back.

"Angel," Crowley hissed. "You know I hate to do that."

"I don't ever know why! It's quite a neat trick." _There were those damned puppy-dog eyes again_ , Crowley though, as the angel turned to face him. _Bless him._

"You do too," he hissed. "I don't like thinking about being stuck as a chair or a houseplant for the rest of my life. I'm afraid one of these days, I'll be stuck as a _rug._ "

"How awful," Aziraphale emphasized. Usually, Crowley would have lunged at anyone daring to be so sarcastic, but the angel wasn't being sarcastic... He was being, well, an angel. _Bless_ him, again.

"Right," the demon muttered. "I best get going then."

"Wh-What?" The angel stammered. "But what about wanting to meet with me, you never did say what was so important that you came up here to find me after I blew you off!"

"Yeah, well, y'know," Crowley muttered again, dodging the question in true serpent fashion. "Places to be, slave masters to tempt and young girls to guide to indecency. Hell doesn't have _days off_ , Angel."

This time, Aziraphale couldn't stop the blush that bloomed across his face. "Well, you know how it is, caring for these kids."

Crowley didn't, but he decided to let it ago. "See you around, Angel."

Aziraphale waited until he was certain that Crowley had gone some distance from the house before finding the attic door that the children had hid behind knocking. He waited, then pulled it down to let the ladder down and watched, beaming, as one by one the children climbed down from their hiding place and hugged the angel tightly.

"Oh," he said, rather surprised.

"I think they like you," the girl commented.

"Yes... It seems so." The angel beamed at the children, enveloping them with a warmth that wasn't humanely possible, but then again he wasn't a human.

"Help me get them to bed?" The girl asked. He nodded, following her as they sought places for each of the children to sleep. Once they had finished, they stood in front of each other in the hallway between the kitchen and the front of the house, listening to the silence that enveloped them.

"What now?"

"I have a friend who will be coming by shortly to see to the children's safety," the girl answered. "He will care for them and find them all safe homes and places to go where they can be free."

"I thought Philadelphia was free?"

"It is, but that doesn't stop slave masters riding north to take their slaves back to the South."

"Ah, yes, I suppose it does not."

"We should be gone before comes, Angel. It is best that no one knows too much about this whole operation, that way we can all do our part in secret."

Aziraphale nodded, following the girl to the front door before it truly dawned on him what she had called him. Perhaps she had overheard Crowley say it to him, or perhaps she was just saying it because his actions had surprised her with their goodness.

Or perhaps it was something else.

"I-I didn't catch your name," he quickly piped up before she could open the door.

She glanced at him, a small smile dancing on her lips. "I didn't tell you it."

He remained silent as she opened the door, pulling her ragged coat closer around her tiny frame as the sound of pounding rain grew louder. "Or did I?"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Have you forgotten our drink in France already, Angel?" The girl called as she stepped out into the rain. She looked up into the storming clouds above her, letting a small breath out into the night as water droplets dotted her face.

Aziraphale froze in the doorway, watching as she walked away from the house. A feeling like ice water, or perhaps a live wire shooting electricity ran up and down his spine, kept him in place. A distant memory, dredged up in the seas of time from nearly three quarters of a century ago threatened to burst behind his eyes.

It was impossible. But entirely, perfectly, utterly possible.

"M?" Aziraphale whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. A cliffhanger. Next chapter will be a bit shorter, I think.
> 
> Some historical notes: I did a bit of research on the Underground Railroad for this chapter, as well as information about fashion at the time and the prevalence of houseplants during the 1850s. If you would like to read more about all the fascinating information I found while writing this chapter, let me know in the comments below and I might write up an Extra for this stuff.
> 
> In the miniseries, Aziraphale and Crowley meet in St. James' Park, London, in 1862. So I had at least somewhat a reference for fashion (which also inspired the top hat comment). Furthermore, it is perfectly possible I decided that they could have had an American detour before meeting in 1862.
> 
> I also wanted to give a little bit of this chapter from Crowley's point of view as the house plant, so that's why it's a bit broken up. I might play around with this a bit more as more chapters and flashbacks come up so we'll see how it works out.


	8. Two Angels Walk into a Bar

_You're rigging the game_  
_You're part of the system_  
 _It shows in the way_  
 _That you never listen when I speak_  
 _I'm not gonna wait_  
 _I've made my decision_  
**The Dark - Thrice  
**

**~**

Paris, France.   
1793

He studied the glass before him. Green Chartreuse. He had heard some folks chatting while having lunch with Crowley about this fantastically rare French liquour and its herbal flavor. He knew instantly that he would have to try it.

So, instead of heading back to England with Crowley, he was still in France, sitting alone at a dark corner table of an upscale house. He vaguely knew the owner, someone who was a friend of a friend, and they had gotten him in to the party the Misses was holding. Instead of socializing, however, he had hidden himself in the darkest corner he could find and had helped himself to a bottle of the Chartreuse while no one was looking.

On one hand, he did find his actions rather bad, but it had been less than 12 hours since he would have been beheaded had Crowley not shown up, and while they had enjoyed some absolutely _divine_ crepes after the fact, he still could not shake some sort of strange feeling. He figured a drink or two would help with that. _And,_ he reasoned, _if anyone_ does _miss this bottle, I can always miracle the alcohol back where it came from_. No one would be the wiser that an angel had stolen a few sips.

It truly was divine. It was sweet and herbaceous, but became more and more spicy and pungent the more he drank. He wondered how the Misses of the house had gotten her hands on this bottle, as he knew for a fact that it was a rare delicacy indeed. Even more rare now as the monks who made this liquor were being forced out of their monastery because of the Revolution.

He remembered working with some of the Monks earlier that century, and in exchange they had given him a few rare manuscripts that would go nicely in his bookshop. They had been rather lovely people.

"Is this seat taken?" He glanced towards the voice, returning to the present reality of being hidden away at a bustling get together among the upper ranks of the French. He had a feeling that they, too, would soon be subject to the guillotine as he almost had been.

"Ah, no, my dear, it is not." He wasn't sure why he said it, but it was too late to take the words back and he didn't want to seem too suspicious, sitting by himself while the house around him bustled with chit chat.

The woman smiled her thanks, sitting beside him and observing the crowded room before them. Her eyes eventually settled on a group of women across from them whose voices could just be heard over the music drifting in from the drawing room. A quartet had been performing there throughout the night. The women were leaning closer now, gossiping about the revolutionaries and the recent beheading's of friends and neighbors in the upper ranks of French society, and stating with a certainty that Aziraphale found disheartening that _they won't possibly come for_ us, _we're not the problem._

They likely would be beheaded within the month, if the Reign of Terror was to continue at the rate it had been.

"May I get you a drink?" Aziraphale glanced at the woman sitting beside him. He hadn't even noticed that he'd finished off the bottle of Chartreuse.

"That would be very kind of you, my dear." The girl smirked ever so slightly as she snapped her fingers, and the bottle of Green Chartreuse before them slowly refilled with the herbaceous liquor.

"Two Angel's walk into a bar... that's likely to be a joke someday, I imagine."

Aziraphale stared first at the bottle, then at her. "I-"

She held up a gloved hand, her smirk turning into a small smile. "I saw you with your friend earlier in the Bastille, and then getting crepes for lunch. There's no point denying it, Angel."

A silence fell between them before Aziraphale could find words once more. "Well," he said simply, picking up the bottle and pouring himself another glass. "I suppose now that you have gotten me a drink, I should know your name."

"You know who I am, Aziraphale," the woman sighed, grabbing the offered bottle and pouring herself a glass. She sipped thoughtfully, letting the flavors roll over her tongue.

"You can't keep calling yourself 'It', my dear. That simply won't do!"

"Fine, call me 'M', then." She replied, finishing off her glass and pouring another, something that Aziraphale couldn't quite decipher flashing behind her eyes. Just as quickly as he noticed it, though, it was gone.

"Alright, M, then. You've changed your look since we last met." She laughed at that, as though she was privy to some sort of joke Aziraphale had yet to have been made aware of.

"I did."

"What brings you to France, my dear?"

"Certainly not the crepes," she replied, another smirk crossing her face as she shot a side ways glance to the Angel. "I heard about what was happening over here and thought I'd come and help where I could."

"So you're here on Angelic business, then."

She shrugged. "I threw in some temptations, don't worry."

"That's not what I meant!" Aziraphale sighed.

"You know the deal, Angel, as well as I do. Now stop the fuss and let us both enjoy a bottle of this _extremely rare_ French Liquor."

Aziraphale eyed her. "So it was you who got the Misses this bottle!" She shrugged, sipping her glass.

They finished off the second bottle in silence. It wasn't until they were halfway through the third and both Angels were beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol that M broke the silence again. "Are you leaving France then, after tonight, I mean?"

"I will be. I will return to England, I should think, and finally open my bookshop."

"Oh," M said quietly. Aziraphale glanced at her, surprised, but couldn't read the expression on her face.

"What is it, my dear?"

"I hear there's some lovely theater pieces opening up soon, and with Crowley back in London, well, I figure you could use someone to act as a companion."

"I-"

" _Please,_ Aziraphale. You're the only who actually cares about me, and even though the humans are great friends at times, it gets _lonely_."

Aziraphale glanced down, hiding his face as he attempted to control an inner turmoil that threatened to erupt. "Alright, fine."

She beamed at him. "Thank you!"

He returned her smile, even though he felt like he had just made some sort of mistake.

*******

On the opposite side of the room in an equally shadowy corner of the house sat a man. He had been listening in on the Angel's conversation throughout the night, unknown to either of them. No one seemed to know he was there, and if any human _did_ happen to glance over at his shadowy alcove, their eyes would slide right on past, as though they couldn't quite focus on that particular corner of the house.

A glass filled with whiskey sat before him, but he had not taken a single sip. He watched as both Angel's stood and left the party, still discussing the specifics of theater and what exactly they would be seeing.

Once they had left, he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as another man slid into the chair set next to him. Compared to his dark jeans, long sleeve shirt, and red cloak (that, if anyone had seen him, would have gotten many strange looks and questions), the other man was dressed far more elegantly. He wore an all black three piece suit, his raven hair cut short and his face having a timeless quality to it. It was the face of a man who was not constrained by the natural laws of the world, a face that the man recognized as a mirror of his own.

"You're late."

The man smiled coldly. "I am never late."

"I have sat here all night observing the two Angels, and you have arrived now that they are gone."

"As I said, I am never late. I saw what I needed. Now, if we may get to business..." The man trailed off, waiting for the first man to continue.

"Your reputation precedes you. Many here think you are the Grim Reaper."

"The Grim Reaper is a myth drunken fools provide for quick, cheap fear."

The man nodded. "What is your name?"

The man smiled again, and once more it lacked any semblance of warmth. "I do not have a name you would be able to comprehend, Niocel."

The man shivered ever so slightly underneath his cloak at the mention of his old name. It was dead to him, it had been for a long time now. How could this man know-

"I know many things, Angel. I know that you Fell from Grace a long time ago. I know that you no longer use that name, preferring to go by Nico. I know that you and the other Eight Angels of Eden are planning to-"

"That's enough." Nico slowly held up a hand. "As I was saying, your reputation precedes you. Some say you are the Grim Reaper, yes. Other's state that you are just a fraud; a man who plays at being a ruthless murderer but is truly a coward. Still others say that you are a man out of time, one who holds certain... Supernatural... Capabilities."

"And what do you believe?"

Nico looked the man sitting beside him up and down, taking in his suit, his dark hair, his cold appearance. "I think you are somebody who understands the days of an Almighty God are only as many as those who wish to not do anything about it will let there be. I think you understand that the days of Mankind are numbered, as well, and that both Heaven and Hell will stop at nothing to have their war, even if God Herself does not want it."

The man chuckled, extending a hand slowly towards Nico. "The name is Nigel."

Nico took Nigel's outstretched hand, shaking it and then turning back to the crowded room. "The girl. I want her brought to me."

"And why, pray tell, would an innocent little Angel like yourself want another Angel kidnapped?" Nigel coaxed.

"She is not to be trifled with."

"And neither am I," Nigel retorted, standing up and taking Nico's abandoned glass of whiskey from the table, downing it in one gulp.

"I sent Demons after her before to kill her. She survived. I want to know how. I want to know what she is. And then, I want her dead."

Nigel remained silent, refilling the glass with whiskey with a single thought and promptly downing it again.

"How long will it take?"

Nigel turned back to Nico. "If you sent Demons after her before, why are you so sure that I will be able to handle her?"

Nico smirked. It was the first time he had shown any sort of emotion during the night, perhaps even longer. "Though you may be a Demon, you are not aligned solely to Hell. You have... adapted to human ways. The Demons I sent before wanted to please their leader, who wanted a _specific_ Demon to kill the girl. I thought he would; he is a lot like you, after all."

"But he didn't," Nigel finished.

"He did not. It seems he is not as Fallen as they believed. They swear up and down that he did in fact kill the girl, but there she is: Very much alive." Nico stood, adjusting his cloak so that the hood would hide his face as he left the house. Humans didn't like looking at him these days. As he made the slow descent into being Fallen, he was losing more and more of his former Angelic beauty, becoming something that the humans would consider monstrous.

"I think you can do it because you are far more ruthless than he is, and you are more than willing to see this world along with Heaven and Hell burn."

"I will have her to you by the end of week, then." Nigel grinned. He liked a challenge.

Nico stopped him before he could leave. "Do not rush yourself, friend. Time is a friend to both the Occult and Ethereal. Patience is king in this game we play. A hasty move and we will lose our chance to overthrow the current order. No. Wait until I call upon you again. Then bring her to me."

"And until then?" Nico asked.

"Do as you wish. Enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. Enjoy want mankind can offer, while it still exists. Get close to the girl and her friends. Inform me on what you discover."

Nigel grinned, a mischievous glint growing in his eyes. "As you wish, Angel."


	9. Everything Will Be Fine...

_SoHo, London  
Six years ago._

Crowley and Aziraphale had returned to the kitchen, covering the girl up and letting her rest. Aziraphale had filled in Crowley with some of the details. He told him of how the girl they now had lying on a couch in somebody's abandoned house had shared a drink with him in Paris during the Reign of Terror. He told him of how they had met again, in 1855, and how Aziraphale hadn't recognized her, at first.

He didn't tell him of how they had met. He didn't tell him of how they had inevitably spent nine years together in France before Aziraphale had finally returned to London to open his bookshop. He didn't tell her that he had been appointed to watch over this specific Angel.

And he didn't know why he kept all of this to himself. _Something_ , though he couldn't quite say _what,_ kept him from telling the Demon everything. They had joined forces to ensure that the Antichrist grew up without any undue Supernatural influences towards either Heaven or Hell, but he had drawn the line in explaining the full situation with an Angel who had lost her wings.

He trusted Crowley, but his side would not like that he told a Demon all this information, so he had to be careful.

Crowley wasn't stupid, though. Aziraphale knew that the Demon could sense he was holding something back - or rather, several _somethings_ \- but he didn't comment on it. In the six thousand years that they had known each other, he couldn't recall a time that the Demon had bitten his tongue like he was now. A Demon, usually by the very nature of their being, would find out what someone was hiding one way or another. And Heaven knew Demons were persistent buggers.

And yet, Crowley was doing neither. He was sitting and listening to Aziraphale with an intense look that, when the Angel finally registered it, made him squirm. He tried to hide it by adding a shiver, but that was only more noticeable and suddenly the Demon's stoic face was twisting into a sly smile and an entirely _human_ heat was rising into his own face.

Crowley reached forward, plucking his drink from across the island that rose between them and sipping it casually. He couldn't be sure, but Aziraphale could practically feel Crowley's eyes staring at him with that same intensity, that _wanting_ , even though they were hidden by a pair of sunglasses.

He quickly cleared his throat, trying to hide his sudden discomfort (which only seemed to add more discomfort) and grabbed his own drink. "She's an Angel, or was- is- I rather don't know _how_ to refer to her now. There hasn't been an Angel who lost their wings... Well, ever."

He downed his own glass after finishing. He vaguely wished he could conjure up some of the green Chartreuse he had shared with M in Paris, but now was not the time and he had only one bottle left, stuck away in a far corner of the bookshop's back room. He didn't particularly feel that getting _that_ drunk would help this situation. He could hardly cope as is; getting sloshed hadn't helped when they first tried to understand their current Antichrist situation, and it wouldn't help this one.

"Even Demons still have their wings," Aziraphale added, glancing at Crowley.

"Who could cut off an Angel's wings?" Crowley set his glass down, leaning forward on the island and meeting Aziraphale's eyes head on. "Certainly not a mere human. Not many of them even know we exist - don't look at me like that."

Crowley quickly interjected before the Angel could make it clear that there was a whole _faith_ built around belief in God and Angels and the like. "You know what I mean. They may believe, but they don't _know_. And the one's who do wouldn't dare go to suhc lengths to cut off our wings. Not many people can subdue an Angel, or a Demon for that matter."

Crowley was right. "If not a human, then surely it is someone from your side!"

Crowley bit his cheek. He didn't want to keep reminding the Angel that ideas of sides were asinine at best and potentially dangerous at worst. There were no sides - there was only their side. "I can check, but I doubt that one of ours would mess with a lone Angel like this. It's too rash and messy to be a Demon's work. They may lack imagination down there, but they're not entirely stupid. Sure Hastur and Ligur can be violent at times and kill humans, but those are _humans._ Even they aren't stupid enough to take on an Angel."

"You think it could be one of ours?" Aziraphale asked, incredulous. "An Angel would _never_ harm another Angel - for any reason!"

Crowley stared at him. He could practically feel the pity in his cold, serpent heart. "Really, angel? Have you forgotten how many of us were cast out of Heaven?"

His voice was even, soft. It only served to bite at Aziraphale even more. "No-no, I have not. But that was a long time ago. I only meant that there is not an Angel I know in all of Heaven who would do this. As you said, too messy and rash. Besides! She hasn't Fallen. She is still an Angel... just without her wings..."

"Can you be certain that losing your wings doesn't constitute as Falling?" Crowley retorted. "You know the Almighty. Ineffable and all."

Aziraphale looked down doubtfully. He couldn't be certain, and that worried him. He truly believed in his heart that M had not Fallen, but without her wings, was it even possible for her to be considered an Angel?

He turned on his heel, hurrying back into the other room and grabbing a blanket to bundle the poor girl up in. "What are you doing?" Crowley called.

"I am taking her back to the bookshop, where I can keep an eye on her as she heals." He replied, picking her up after wrapping a blanket tightly around her frame.

"Oh no- you can't do that, angel." Crowley followed him into the room.

"Why not?"

"We don't know who did this. And with the current Antichrist situation, I think it's best that we leave her here. Someone will find her and take care of her."

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, Crowley, I can't do that. She should be cared for. I can help her and watch Warlock. Everything will be find, I assure you."

"Fine," Crowley muttered, once again following the Angel out into the rainy SoHo evening. Something deep down inside his Demonic bones told him this might not end well, but he also knew Aziraphle would get his way. He always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter this time.
> 
> Next chapter we will be back in the present with Mariel, I think.
> 
> The song for this chapter was an instrumental, hence no lyrics up top. This chapter strictly speaking is not a two-parter, but in some ways it is. The title and the song choices are, and I guess the storyline is too - I just don't want to refer to it as a two part chapter, I guess, unlike chapter three.
> 
> Also, I found a post on Pinterest that points out how in the Good Omens series, Crowley always calls Aziraphale "angel" (not capitalized) as if it is a pet name like "baby" or "honey" so I'm starting to incorporate that into this and refer to them as Angel and Demon everywhere else (capitalized, like a proper noun referring to their "species", if you will). I'll go back and edit the previous chapters where it is needed once this fanfic is finished, I think.


	10. ...Until it Isn't

_SoHo, London  
Present day_

Maria slowly breathed in and out. It had been a while since she had left Columbus, let alone the United States. She'd only landed an hour ago, and yet, as she stood in front of a rather antique-looking bookshop, she desired nothing more than to be back behind her desk.

She'd been working in the field for a year trying to find a missing person and she still felt no more qualified than when she began. Maybe because she wasn't qualified to begin with.

It had been six years since she'd stood on London concrete, outside of this very bookshop. This was where Remiel had told her to go, though, and so she was here. Still... A bookshop owner knowing about her missing person seemed a bit of a stretch, even to her. Sure, Tyler Joseph wasn't a name you could say these days without someone being able to connect it somehow to music broadly, and Twenty One Pilots more specifically, but the person Maria was meeting wasn't exactly up to date on pop culture and the music scene.

He did know his first edition Bible's and prophecy books, though. Not that that would be very helpful. Remiel said there was a lead in London, and if anyone would know who that was, it would be Ezra. And, if not him, then one of his associates.

She hurried across the street, dodging the newly-forming rain puddles. The weather here made her almost miss Seattle. Almost.

The bookshop was closed. She'd learned not long after making Ezra's acquaintance that the bookshop was _hardly_ ever open. There was no use asking for a key - he wasn't the type of person to give away one to just anybody, and he liked his books more for show and his enjoyment than having people perusing his shelves buying all his stock.

So, shivering in the cold and hopelessly drenched without a raincoat, she knocked. She wondered if he was even in. With is sporadic opening hours, it was impossible to know if the shop was closed because he didn't want to be bothered by bookworms, or if he was truly out.

She vaguely wished that Anthony was here. He had kind to her when they had met, which was a surprise considering how he drove his Bentley through the streets of London. He liked his car fast. He also wasn't easy to get to know; preferring to show strangers a cold shoulder rather than a warm embrace. Except for Maria. They'd somewhat hit it off while she had stayed with Ezra - much to both men's chagrin.

Plus, he was the only other person that Maria knew of who had a key to the bookshop.

Just as she was considering giving up and heading to a hotel, a set of frazzled footsteps came from inside the shop, and a face peeked from behind some blinds. Maria smiled at the man, who's face in turn became an expression of surprise. He quickly unlocked the door, letting her in.

"Hey there, Ez."

"Maria!" The man exclaimed, the look of surprise turning to a warm smile as he embraced her.

"No, no stop, I'm all wet," she tried to protest, without much success, against his hug. He looked just as she remembered, and he still had that strange _warmth_ that seemed to waft off of him. It was calming, and always made her feel safe. He had always joked that it was because he was an Angel, which had only made Maria like him more. He was a good person, she truly believed that.

"Did Remiel call you?" Maria asked as he herded her into the back room. He lit a fire and poured her some tea, insisting that she sit down and they catch up.

"Remiel?"

"Sorry," she laughed softly. "I forgot. My mail must not have been reaching you. I was recruited to find somebody. A missing person. Remiel is my boss. He contacted you because you said you had a lead on my case...?"

He frowned. "It's my turn to apologize," he admitted. "I have been getting your mail, but I'm afraid I rather have not had the time to reply. Anthony and I - well, we've been busy. Saving the world from Armageddon, if you'd believe it!"

He was smiling, but something in his tone made Maria question whether he was joking or being serious. "As for your boss, I can't say I've heard from him."

Frowning, she sipped her tea. "Strange... I'll call him later, I suppose. See what's up. I should check into a hotel, anyway. Might be here for a while."

"Hotel?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Your room upstairs is always open, you know. I told you before you left that you were always welcome back here."

"I wouldn't want to intrude..."

"Nonsense! I haven't seen you in _six_ years, my dear." He was smiling, his eyes twinkling. Biting her lip, she shrugged and nodded.

"Alright," she relented.

A bell rang from the front of the shop, signalling that they were no longer alone. Maria hadn't even noticed it over her desire to get in from the rain. Now that she was safe and dry, though, it was almost piercing.

"I come to visit and you instantly open the shop, eh? Are you sure you want me in that room upstairs, or do you just want me out of your sight already?" She smirked lightheartedly, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"Ez? Everything okay?"

"Oh, yes." He finally answered, looking as though he was shaking off some sort of trance. "I- uh, stay here, I'll be back."

She frowned, watching him hurry out of the room. _That was weird_ , she thought.

*******

"Aziraphale!"

He didn't need to leave the backroom to know who had entered his bookshop. Most of the time, Angels could hide themselves, or rather, their divinity, from prying eyes and other Angelic senses. This Angel, however, was not choosing to hide their presence. It was piratically screaming at Aziraphale, drowning out any other thoughts.

He was standing just inside the shop, swaying slightly from side to side, and looking like... Well, Hell. Not the literal sense of the word, of course. It was quite impossible for un-Fallen Angels to look like Hell. They were divine, Heavenly. But this Angel looked Hellish, and it sent a slow chill down Aziraphale's spine. His clothes were slightly disheveled, and his eyes looked hollow, like he had somehow lost his Angelic spark.

"Remiel," he whispered. "Wh- What are you doing here?" He hurried over, steadying Remiel as he continued to sway.

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I tired to persuade them. I tried to stop them. They won't hear reason, though. Somebody told them- they know what you two did."

Aziraphale froze. The chills running down his spine turned to ice. "Remiel," he began, but was cut off.

"I had to send her here, you have to keep her safe. They're coming Aziraphale. They'll want you and Crowley, but it'll only be a matter of time before they find out about her, too."

His mind was reeling. Ice was becoming ice water, pouring down his spine and making him feel weak. His knees would likely have given way in a very un-Angelic like manner had he not been so focused on holding Remiel up.

"We have to go, then. Now. We'll go to Crowley's place."

"Aziraphale, stop." Remiel struggled away from the other Angel, pulling against the efforts being made to help him to the back room. "They're coming here first. I can buy you time, but you need to get her and yourself out of here."

"They'll kill you," Aziraphale said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"They likely will." Remiel replied. "And I likely will deserve it. Contact Crowley. Tell him to meet you, and get out of London. Tonight."

Aziraphale stared at Remiel, then turned around, hurrying to the back room and grabbing anything he could think that would be useful on the way.

Heaven was coming, and they wanted to finish what they had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have begun an original novel that I've been focusing on for the time being. That said, I will likely update this far less frequently. I'll get back to this project eventually, but for now it's on hold.


End file.
